


Obzedat's Aid(e)

by Mertiya



Series: Casualties of War [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: But Tomik's not a rebound or anything, Coffee, Currently canon-compliant, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Overprotective Ral, Ral's got some really complicated feelings, Thunder and Lightning, Tsunderes, aka The Other Ral Zarek Tag, aka The Ral Zarek Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Ral Zarek is drowning in stress and grieving over Jace's death.  But at least there's a cute guy who keeps giving him coffee.





	Obzedat's Aid(e)

**Author's Note:**

> Finally had time to sit down and hammer out a proper getting together for Ral and Tomik. Hopefully won't get too jossed by the prequel. I have headcanons about Jace and Ral as well, of course, and am vaguely considering an OT4 fic for the future.

            Ral stared blearily at the mug of ale in front of him. There was some reason that he’d been upset, wasn’t there? Maybe a problem with his equipment or getting yelled at by his incompetent asshole of a boss again? He searched his brain. Oh. No. Jace was dead, that was it. Damn. The point of the ale was NOT to remember that. He’d better have some more. He reached for the glass, but it wasn’t quite where he’d expected it to be; the tips of his fingers knocked against it and it began to tip over. In Ral's mind he saw it fall to the ground and shatter, shards of glass scattered around the dark ale like broken limbs around blood on the sand—

            A hand reached out and steadied it for him, and he looked up into a pair of shy hazel eyes. “Are you all right?” the stranger asked.

            “Yeah.” Ral waved a hand vaguely. “Long day at work, that’s all.” And another one tomorrow. Maybe he should leave. This wasn’t working anyway; his brain kept trying to figure out what was wrong and then figuring it out. Damn. He didn’t care. Why should he care?

            With a sigh, he started to get up, and the floor tipped slightly under him. He stumbled, scrabbling for the bartop to steady himself, and the hazel-eyed man put out a hand and caught his elbow. “Let me walk you home?”

            Bad idea, Ral, very bad idea. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Izzet. Ral could feel the soft untouchable hum of white mana surrounding him, along with something else that he strongly suspected was black. Orzhov probably—maybe guildless, maybe Azorius. Hell, maybe Dimir. Anyways, shouldn’t be letting an Orzhov guildmage walk him home.

            He tried to take another step and thought about the dark, empty apartment waiting for him. Something tightened in his chest. “Yeah, okay,” he said, not looking at the other man. “Thanks,” he added after a moment.

            “No trouble.”

            They walked—well, Ral staggered—in silence for a few blocks, the other man with a gentle hand at Ral’s shoulder to steady him. The bar wasn’t all that far from Ral’s hole-in-the-corner apartment in the Tenth. Most people didn’t expect a guildmaster—Ral’s chest tightened again, and he half-coughed, half-laughed at the absurd hollowness of his current title—to be living somewhere like that, but he spent half his time in his lab or his office anyway, so what did it matter? He used to have somewhere else to go at the end of a long day anyway, and now he didn’t.

            “It’s just up here. I’m on the second floor.”

            “Not too many stairs then. That’s probably a good thing.”

            “Shut up,” Ral mumbled. “’M not that drunk.” _I’m not drunk enough_.

            “You are quite drunk, my friend,” said the probably-an-Orzhov, sounding amused. When they reached the stairs, Ral jerked his arm away, trying to prove a point, and promptly found himself leaning sideways against the wall. Since there was no railing, this was likely to make ascension difficult. He gave a wordless snarl and felt the capacitance on his gauntlet abruptly fill, sparks of electricity overflowing from it and flying off every which way. His companion took a half-step backwards, and Ral couldn’t blame him.

            “I’ve got this,” he said, a little quieter.

            “It’s fine.” The warmth of his companion at his side was back, when Ral had thought he’d scared the guy off forever. He was still proffering an arm. Feeling defeated, Ral took it, and let himself be carefully helped up the stairs to his darkened apartment. Mother of rains, he didn’t want to be alone. He shut his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door, seeing swirling white patterns on blue imprinted on his eyelids. Damn, damn, damn.

            “Are you going to be all right?”

            “I’ll be fine,” Ral jerked out. “I _am_ fine. Just—just drunk.”

            There was a pause. “Okay.” He heard the sound of someone moving away, and then the footsteps halted at the top of the landing. “Ah—if you—I don’t know, need someone to walk you back to your apartment again sometime, my name is Tomik Vrona.”

            “Right,” Ral said, a little blankly. “Thanks.” Then he dug out his key, miraculously got it to go into the door, and half-fell into his empty apartment.

~

            It was horribly bright. Ral’s head was a massive ball of pain. The taste in his mouth was better off not being considered. _Hangover_ , several of his brain cells managed to chorus. With a groan, he pried himself off of his bed, vaguely noticing he didn’t seem to have any sheets. They were probably in his laundry basket. He had some notion he’d been meaning to do laundry yesterday and then hadn’t.

            For a long minute, he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, trying to remember what he had to do today. Trying to remember what day of the week it was. After far too long of failing at basic mental function, he gave up. Whatever he needed to do, the earlier he got to Nivix, the better. Half his day was probably going to be spent getting yelled at by Tezzeret-the-incompetent. The other half would be administrative work, and then in the final half, he’d need to work on Niv’s project.

            Three halves seemed about right for the length of his days lately. At least it didn’t leave him a lot of time for thought. He sat for a minute longer, hoping the pain in his head would subside. When it didn’t, he got slowly to his feet and shuffled over to the bathroom, where he downed a glass of water and several strong painkillers, stood there for a minute contemplating whether it was worth his time to shave, decided it wasn’t, and went out to strap on his gauntlet and head out the door.

            At least he’d woken relatively early for once. The sun hadn’t yet appeared over the tops of the buildings, so he wasn’t going to be late for whatever the hell he needed to do today. He was just taking a deep breath of the early morning air when someone cleared their throat gently.

            Ral whirled to see a young man in white robes leaning against the side of his building. The reddish hair didn’t mean anything to him, but the hazel eyes were vaguely familiar. He wracked his brains and managed to pull together a few memories from the night before. “Uh…” he said intelligently. “You…Tom—ik?”

            “Tomik Vrona, yes.” He held out a paper cup that steamed gently in the crisp early-morning air. “I thought you might need some coffee after last night.”

            For a long moment, Ral just stared at him. “Oh. Um. Thanks,” he finally managed, reaching out a trembling hand for the cup, which smelled truly heavenly.

            “Well—ah—I hope it helps,” Tomik said awkwardly. “I’d better be getting to work.”

            Ral tilted his head to one side, looking at the white robes. “Orzhov?” he hazarded.

            Jerky nod. “I’m an advokist. And, ehm—you’re an Izzet guildmage.”

            “How could you tell?” Ral drawled, forcing himself to sip the coffee so he didn’t burn his tongue, although he wanted to take a long swallow of it.

            “Just lucky, I suppose.” Tomik gave him a small smirk.

            “Thanks again,” Ral got out. His head was still agonizing, but at least the warmth and smell of the coffee was starting to make him feel a little more human. Tomik stood up from the wall, standing still for a moment.

            “Well, I’ll see you around?” he tried.

            “If you want to, I guess.” Ral shrugged. “You might want to know my name first, though.”

            Tomik gave him a little laugh. “Oh—yeah—I guess that would make—”

            “It’s Ral Zarek,” Ral said and watched Tomik’s eyes widen a little. “Yeah. So. Think about it.” He didn’t have any more time to waste anyway, so he turned and headed for Nivix, the coffee still clutched tightly in his hand. It was, he had to admit, really good coffee.

~

            Ral hadn’t expected Tomik to be waiting outside his apartment again the next day, but he was, holding another cup of coffee. He gave Ral a shy smile as he held it out. “You seemed to like it yesterday,” he said hesitantly. “I figured even the Izzet guildmaster can never have too much caffeine.”

            “You are not wrong.” Ral took it and arranged his face in what he hoped was a smile and not a snarl. “Thanks.”

            As the weeks spun on, and Ral’s dreams stopped being _exclusively_ about sand and blood and swirling blue fabric just out of reach, it became a pattern. Tomik, waiting outside every morning, with a cup of really excellent coffee, was becoming the one bright spot in Ral’s long, exhausting days. They didn’t exactly exchange much in the way of conversation other than “hi,” “hey,” “thanks,” but it was—nice. Untouched by the mess that the rest of Ral’s life had become. One day, Ral dragged himself out of bed an hour or two early to get down to his favorite local donut shop before Tomik showed up. He hadn’t been there since before he’d become guildmaster, and the last time he’d been, it had been with Jace.

            Ral had to stop in the doorway for a moment, the smells dragging him right back to a laughing morning in the wake of their early sabotage of Project Lightning Bug. For an instant, he could see the Guildpact at his side, looking strangely naked in a brown guildless outfit, his too-long hair flopping into his eyes. Then the vision was gone, and Ral was standing in the center of his favorite donut shop dripping lightning everywhere.

            “Sorry,” he muttered to the nervous-looking shop owner. “Can I get a dozen plain donuts?”

            He breathed a sigh of relief once he made it out, but at least he’d actually set foot in the place, and the donuts really did smell good. Plus, the look on Tomik’s face when he bit into one was—wow—very—uh—where was Ral’s train of thought again?

            “You have got to take me to this place,” Tomik said, once he’d swallowed his mouthful of donut and nearly inhaled the rest. Ral had to take a moment to process the fact he’d somehow managed to eat one of Ravnica’s crumbliest donuts without getting a single speck on his white robes. Ral himself was vaguely uncomfortably aware he had a trail of crumbs running from his chin down the front of his shirt, and he brushed at it awkwardly.

            “Sure,” he said. “They do dinner some nights too. Want to get something to eat with me later?” Wait. Pause. Reverse. What had he just said?

            “Ah—yes. I’d like that.” Tomik gave him his usual small smile, and then he reached out and tweaked an errant crumb away from Ral’s shoulder.

~

            It was dark, and Ravnica’s streets were awash with gold. Ral hadn’t seen the streetlights like this for months. Not sober, at least. Dinner with Tomik had been surprisingly fun. Not that Ral had a native burning desire to hear about property tax at length, but it was novel and that made it a good distraction. And Tomik was enthusiastic about it, in a dry, restrained kind of way. He also turned out to know a lot about the history of the district, and that was the kind of thing Ral could have been interested in, if he’d ever had time for it. The whole evening so far had felt—remote—as if Ral were somewhere _else_ , untouchable. And of course it didn’t last.

            They turned the corner near Ral’s apartment, not touching but walking close enough that Ral could feel the warmth radiating from Tomik’s shoulder and the minor static charge that surrounded him—that surrounded anyone—and it was nice, that was nice. And then Ral looked up as someone in a long cloak kicked some dust up into a streetlight, the golden motes swirling like sand.

            The cloak probably wasn’t blue—in the yellow lamplight it could have been almost any dark color—but the combination of cloak and dust in the yellow light was enough to make Ral stagger, enough to make him feel the swelling of Baal’s power inside him, enough to turn him to the side and send the lightning snapping in front of Tomik to ground itself in a nearby building.

            “Ral?” Tomik was reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

            “Don’t!” Ral snapped, bending over. “Wait. Just—just wait.” He ground his teeth together against the pain in his throat, coughed, spat lightning, and then stood and breathed for a few minutes. Then he reached out for Tomik, blindly seeking warmth and forgetfulness. The advokist’s hand gripped his. “Ral...” he said softly.

            “Shut up,” Ral told him, straightening up and turning toward him. “I know it’s a bad idea. Shut up.” Tomik licked his lips and leaned forward.

            “Well,” he said. “It’s not as if I’ve never made a risky investment.” And then his lips were on Ral’s, and Ral was groaning into his mouth, into the sharp taste of paper and formaldehyde, Ral’s hand squeezing Tomik’s wrist as if he’d never let it go. This wasn’t anything, he reminded himself, it didn’t mean anything; they were both just stressed and why not find what relief they could?

            Tomik leaned into him, his hands clutching at Ral’s waist so hard Ral wondered if they would bruise. One of his own hands dropped onto Tomik’s back, raking down it hard enough he could feel the friction of his nails against Tomik’s back even through the cloth of his robes. Tomik whined and bit Ral’s bottom lip, their tongues sliding in and out of each other’s mouths.

            “Fuck,” Ral panted. “Want to get a hotel room? I know where there’s a decent one for a few zinos.”

            “Yes,” Tomik mumbled, pulling back with swollen lips, ruffled hair, and eyes dilated, the streetlights outlining his red hair with thin golden wire. “Guildless?”

            “Unaffiliated, yeah.”

            “I can’t offer anything that isn’t Orzhov, and that might—not be discreet.”

            “Yeah,” Ral agreed. “Yeah.”

~

            He started to regret it as soon as they got into the room and Tomik started tugging at his clothes. “Fuck,” Ral swore, sinking into a very uncomfortable armchair by the window. “Fuck, I don’t know if—” He held up his gauntlet, which was whining and sparking erratically. Sure, he’d had sex without it before. With a mind mage. When he wasn’t stressed as hell. “I’m not exactly known for my control. We could give it a shot with my gauntlet on?” Which would be uncomfortable as hell, but what were the other options? He wasn’t going to risk electrocuting his newest friend in bed. He laughed a little helplessly at the image of paying the Orzhov compensation for accidentally frying one of their best advokists. It wasn’t funny.

            Tomik sat down on the arm of the chair and watched him for a minute. Then he said, “I think I can help with that,” put his hand gently over Ral’s, and held on when Ral instinctively started to pull back. “Let me try, and if it doesn’t work—no harm, no foul, right?”

            “I mean, if you consider dying by electrocution no foul,” Ral retorted, but he let Tomik turn his hand over, frowning in concentration. Golden whorls and lines appeared from beneath Ral’s skin, carrying a strange warm touch with them.

            “All right, try to shock me.”

            “You know that could _really_ hurt, right? I have been known to send people across the room by accident.”

            Tomik looked at him, and Ral was surprised by the determination in those hazel eyes. “Try it.”

            “Fine.” Ral drew mana, gently, letting the crackling lightning well up in his fist. One spark—two—and the rest of it welled away again, drawn back beneath his palm by a gentle tug. Tomik gave a sharp exclamation as the tiny sparks jumped to his fingers, then stuck them ruefully into his mouth.

            “I did warn you,” Ral told him, but he was staring down at his hand and the glittering golden runes that had swallowed most of the lightning. His hand felt warm—he felt off-balance and peculiar. “Stop it,” he said sharply.

            “You can stop it yourself,” Tomik told him. “Just think about _refusing_ , instead of however you normally conjure lightning.”

            Ral did, and the golden marks faded with a strange little sound like rustling paper. He breathed a sigh of relief; sparks erupted from his gauntlet again. “How did you do that?” he asked curiously.

            “Set up a temporary contract, essentially. It was something you wanted to do, so there was an implicit agreement formed already. I enforced it and tied it to your own magic so you could break it as desired.”

            “Huh,” Ral said slowly. “Fascinating.” He looked up at Tomik’s pupils, dilated wide and dark inside his hazel irises, even while he was still calmly explaining the ins and outs of law magic. “Do it again. Explain later.”

            Tomik broke into a smile and stroked the back of his wrist again. Warmth surged through his hand, and the golden symbols glowed from beneath his skin. Trembling, Ral undid his gauntlet and laid it to the side, then tried to make lightning. He got a shower of sparks, but nothing like the full-fledged bolt he’d been going for. “Damn,” he said, rubbing his hand across the shining marks.

            “It only works if you let it,” Tomik murmured, and he was leaning forward, hands on both arms of the chair now, but he stopped with his face inches away from Ral’s. Ral snarled, reached out, and yanked him close into a deep, biting kiss.

~

            This Tomik thing? It wasn’t a Thing. Not really. Just because they were meeting for dinner every other night and fucking each other’s brains out twice a week did not make it a Thing. Tomik was funny and handsome and a little shy and very intelligent but _it was not a Thing_. There was no reason for it not being a Thing. It just wasn’t.

            Which was, of course, all the more reason Ral needed to map Tomik entirely. It was a good distraction, and god knew he needed distractions right now, with Tezzeret on his back during the day, and Niv on his back during the night. So. Point at hand. Mapping Tomik.

            Ral’s mouth was down in the delightful little hollow at the base of Tomik’s spine, just above the curve of his ass, and Tomik was gasping and moaning something into the pillows. Tomik had a brown spray of freckles fountaining up from just beneath his waist, like a galaxy of stars. Ral pressed his hand across it. He wanted to show Tomik a plane where you could see the stars. He’d never yet found a place on Ravnica where you could. If there were any Ravnican stars. Wasn’t usually what he went to the sky for, but sometimes it was nice to sit underneath a thousand bright white points of light nestled in velvety darkness.

            He kissed his way up Tomik’s spine, taking careful note of each bump, rubbing his hand down Tomik’s waist. “Are we done with foreplay?” Tomik said, breathlessly, turning his head sideways from where it had been buried in the pillow. “Because I am done with foreplay, Ral, and I have been done with foreplay for the last ten minutes.”

            Ral ran a gentle hand over his side, dripping a few little sparks, and Tomik gasped and writhed. “Damn you,” he said, rolling over and depositing Ral on the side of the bed. He straddled him, grinding against Ral, so that Ral groaned at the hot spiking sensation. They hadn’t even gotten their trousers off yet.

            “Okay, okay, we’re done with foreplay.”

            “Good, but I’m not sure I trust you.”

            “We’re done with foreplay!”

            “You might,” Tomik pressed himself down against Ral, chest to chest, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, “decide to escape.” Ral drew his nails hard up Tomik’s back, and the advokist moaned, arching into the rough touch.

            “Nope,” Ral told him, and Tomik blinked dazed eyes that cleared slowly.

            “Make a contract with me, then,” he breathed. “A temporary one, of course. Agree that you will not try to escape.”

            His eyes were glittering dangerously; for Tomik, he looked almost reckless, and _god_ did that make Ral hard as hell. “Yeah,” he panted. “Krokt. All right.”

            “Witnessed,” Tomik grinned, reaching out and taking Ral’s hand in his. Golden light spun into existence from nowhere, forming a set of glittering gold chains that wound around Ral’s wrists, binding him to the bed.

            Tomik bit his lip, looking down at Ral in a way that actually made the Izzet mage squirm a little, then slowly drew off his trousers and ran his hands down Ral’s sides. Ral found himself taking in a soft, gasping breath, felt the electricity rising inside him and beating against his chest, coursing through him like blood, mingling with the golden warmth of Tomik’s contract, safe, contained.

            He lifted his hips as Tomik pulled his trousers off and then groaned as the advokist straddled him, rubbing himself slowly up and down Ral’s chest and stomach. “Thought we were done with foreplay,” Ral groaned, as little sparks dripped gently into his eyes, partially obscuring his vision.

            Tomik looked at him from hooded eyes, grinning lazily. “Now that I’m the one in control of the foreplay, perhaps not.”

            “I could zap you.”

            “What, and break our contract?” But Tomik shifted himself backwards again, reaching for their bottle of lubricant. The following few rapid, slick tugs made Ral moan and hitch his hips upward.

            “Fuck,” he grunted. Then, as Tomik positioned himself and sank down, “ _Fucking_ Baal, _fuck_.” His head fell back against the pillows.

            Round hips beneath his hands, Tomik’s voice moaning in concert with Ral’s, and the way golden light wrapped around them both as Ral’s lightning snapped through his body, searching for a release and only finding enough to let the sparks drip down from his fingers as Tomik rocked his hips and rode him. Sweat dripped down Ral’s forehead and chest, and he bucked up into Tomik and raked his nails down through the sweat on the other man’s back as well. Wet heat and ozone, golden light flickering in Tomik’s hazel eyes. Something new and precious and only _his_.

            “Fuck, _Tomik_ ,” he managed, and Tomik rolled himself forward, pressing their foreheads together, and Ral felt their breath mingle, and oh, no, oh, shit, oh fuck, he _cared_ , he did care, didn’t he? This was a disaster waiting to happen, and he needed to stop it somehow: pull away, or remind them both this didn’t mean anything, or maybe just fucking planeswalk.           

            He did nothing of the sort. Instead, he tangled both hands in Tomik’s sweaty hair and kissed him like he was drowning and Tomik was air. Their hearts thundered against one another; Tomik went still for half of a heartbeat, and then he deepened the kiss even more. _Too late_ , Ral thought, somewhat incoherently, as Tomik’s hips slammed down into his again and he was drawn away in a wash of gold sensation.

~

            Whistling. Someone was whistling. Ral jerked himself upright from his position half-asleep against the lab table, rubbing his eyes.

            “Sleeping, Zarek?” Tezzeret’s unpleasant voice drawled.

            Ral stifled his first instinct, which was to say, _Mother of rains, why aren’t you dead yet?_ and managed to get away with just three or four sparks flying from his left hand to a nearby manaline. “Nope, just resting my eyes for a minute,” he replied insouciantly, sitting up and somehow managing not to groan at the pain that shot through his spine. “What are _you_ so happy about?”

            Tezzeret was grinning. Even his grin was repulsive. Ral itched to send lightning screaming through his system until there was nothing left but a blackened husk— _after_ , of course, telling Tezzeret exactly what he thought of his artificing ability.

            “Those jumped-up little idiots in their ridiculously-named little group got exactly what was coming to them,” Tezzeret sat with satisfaction. A prickle of lightning burst at the nape of Ral’s neck.

            “Hm?” he said, somehow sounding noncommittal, barely interested.

            “The ‘Gatewatch,’” Tezzeret sneered. “If you can believe it, they tried to face off against our master.”

            _Jace_. Ral’s hand tightened on the wrench he’d been holding; somewhere outside, there was a rumble of thunder. “Yeah?” he managed, with something that might even have passed for a laugh.

            “He ripped Beleren’s mind apart,” hissed Tezzeret, and the room turned over.

            When Ral managed to collect himself, Tezzeret was saying something about him needing to work faster; someone managed to keep control of Ral’s vocal cords enough to make an appropriately irritable response. Fortunately, Tezzeret didn’t seem to want to stick around for too long, and once he was gone, Ral, head still buzzing, hands still covered with a web of crackling electricity, was able to get to his feet and head for Project Lightning Bug.

            Jace’s mind was resilient, he told himself. He’d almost certainly dealt with worse. He’d once probed Niv’s mind, after all. Jace was fine. Jace had to be fine.

            Ral drummed his fingers on the desk as the tracker booted up, resisting the urge to help it along with a little extra electricity. Probably wouldn’t work, anyway. Might fry a few circuits, set him back several days. Which might not be so bad under other circumstances, but he didn’t have time for that now.

            There. It was ready. With shaking hands, Ral carefully calibrated it to Jace’s signature, following the glowing blue trail from Ravnica to Kaladesh— _thanks for walking out in the middle of our date and not coming back, asshole_ —to another plane Ral had never been to, and then—and then—it ended. “No,” Ral breathed. “No, come on, come on.” It would be faint, perhaps. Or he just hadn’t moved from the last place. Maybe he needed Ral. Sure, Jace hadn’t come back, but Ral hadn’t gone to find him, either, too angry, too upset, too—proud. Fuck.

            Okay. He’d go find the idiot. Jace was probably just—hurt. He’d gotten himself hurt from trying to do too much, because he was a moron, and he didn’t know how to delegate, and he thought everything was always his fault. Why hadn’t Ral gone after him and _made_ him come back to Ravnica? Well, he’d do that now.

            He hadn’t planeswalked in too long, and it never got easier, the weird biting unreality of it, spread across a barren, colorful place that hurt and stung and calmed all at the same time. It twisted him up, carved him into new shapes and always left him shaking, but it ended after a timeless short while and the Eternities spat him out onto dry sand. A blast of hot, dry wind slammed into his face, and he staggered and coughed. The beacon let him planeswalk far more precisely than was normally possible, and he knew he couldn’t be more than a few feet away from where Jace’s trail had ended—where Jace had to be.

            Although the wind was howling, the sun was bright, and the desert day was clear. Ral had barely started scanning when he caught sight of it—a scrap of bright blue on the ground, as if a bit of the sky had bled and dripped on the earth. Containing an exclamation, he hurried over to it.

            It was a fragment of Jace’s robe, lying on pale sand spotted with some darker color. With his breath harsh in his ears, Ral dropped to his knees beside it, snatching it up in his hand. A bit of the liquid on it smeared red against his fingers. Blood. Blood on the sand, and Jace’s aether trail ended here.

            _Everyone leaves the rain mage._ The bright gold of the desert sun was the bright gold of streetlights shining directly through the thin curtains, and Ral was gasping and tangled in the sheets. A warm lump in the bed beside him mumbled and turned over, twitching into wakefulness as Ral slammed his hand to the other side of the bed just in time to send the lightning bolting harmlessly into the wall with a loud thunderclap.

            “Ral?” Tomik blinked sleepy eyes at him.

            “I’m fine,” Ral said roughly, voice hoarse with sleep and something else he couldn’t identify. “I’m—” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and put his face in his hands. “Sorry I woke you.”

            Tomik didn’t say anything in response to the apology; instead, a moment later, Ral felt the advokist’s warmth at his back, felt Tomik’s breath in his hair. “Everyone has nightmares, Ral.”

            _Everyone leaves the rain mage_. There was something Ral very much wanted to say, but the thought of saying it choked his throat with superstitious fear, so instead he took Tomik’s hand and said roughly, “I lost someone. Before I met you.” Even that much was painful, like uncontrolled lightning searing his tongue.

            Tomik made an understanding noise. “I’ve lost people, too. My parents came back, of course, but not everyone has.” He spoke neutrally, almost dispassionately, but one hand awkwardly rubbed its way through Ral’s hair.

            “Your parents came…back?”

            Chuckling, Tomik pulled Ral back into bed, and Ral let himself be pulled. “My parents died in an accident when I was ten, but they had certain—provisions in place.”

            “Orzhov provisions?”

            “As it were. I thought they were gone for two days, though, and it was the worst two days I have ever experienced.”

            Ral nodded slowly, exhaustedly tucking his legs into his chest. After a moment, Tomik slung an arm over him. “Thanks,” Ral muttered.

~

            When he woke again, it was morning, and Tomik was setting a cup of coffee down by the bed. “I have an early meeting; I have to run,” the advokist told him.

            Ral groaned something unintelligible and went for the coffee. His brain was trying to tell him something, but he definitely wasn’t awake enough for it yet. Tomik bent down, looked him in the eye for a second, and then kissed him on quickly on the cheek. “Have a good day,” he said, and then he was out the door, leaving Ral blinking blearily after him.

            Slowly, he pried himself out of bed as well, considered taking a shower and then decided he could do that just as well in a grotty shower in Nivix rather than a grotty shower in an unaffiliated motel. He was halfway out the door with the coffee in his hand before his brain fired sufficiently to form the thought that had been prickling at his subconscious. _You just stayed overnight with Tomik_.

            “Ah. Fuck,” Ral said.

            _Doesn’t mean anything_ , he told himself, walking to Nivix. _Doesn’t mean anything_ , he reminded himself when Tezzeret screamed at him for an hour that would have been better served just letting Ral get on with his work and he found his mind drifting back to the quiet hours of the night before. _Definitely, absolutely, does not mean anything_ , he reminded himself firmly when the sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon and it was getting close to the time when he usually had an excuse to leave, and all he wanted was to get to a few, quiet hours of conversation with Tomik.

            The red glow of fire greeted him on his way out, and he sighed. “What _now_?” he groused to Maree, who was sitting cross-legged on one of the statues of Niv, gazing at it contemplatively. “Gruul riots again,” she said. “Looks a bit bigger than usual. Someone was saying they might have caught an Orzhov processional. Want to watch the show?”

            Ral’s breath stopped. Blood on the sand, blue sky above and blue scraps below. Tomik’s unguarded hazel eyes crinkling in amusement. “Gotta go,” he told Maree, and the clouds above him began to boil.

            Storm and Ral swept into one of the broad main streets near Orzhova to find a full-fledged battle between bellowing Gruul warriors and armored Orzhov knights. An overturned Orzhov carriage was on fire in the middle of the street, and three or four buildings lining the street were also burning. The Gruul had really outdone themselves this time.

            Desperately, Ral scanned the chaos. The heavy rain he’d brought was helping to put out the fire, but it was also harming his visibility. The fighting did grow less intense as several of the fighters stumbled away from the fray in confusion.

            After a few minutes of hovering, buoyed by the howling winds around him, Ral gave up and dropped to the street, ducking between a bellowing minotaur who was squaring off with a shrieking, misshapen thrull, and running for the carriage in the center. A weeping man in black-and-white robes had his knees pulled into his chest and was sheltering there; Ral grabbed his shoulder and yanked him around. “Tomik Vrona,” he said urgently. “Was he here?”           

            The man looked up at him with dazed eyes, ragged pupils dilated enormously. “T-Tomik?” he stammered. “W-Went to try and get help.” He pointed off in the direction of one of the shadowed knots of combatants.

            _Fuck. No._ Ral turned, and the man grabbed his wrist. “Here,” he said breathlessly, pushing something into Ral’s hand. White and wet and quite thick. “You’re Izzet, right?” the man gabbled. “Can’t you track him? It’s a piece of his robes.”

            “Thanks.” Ral paused for a moment longer. “Here, take this. Anyone gets close to you, press the button, throw it at them, and duck, okay?”

            Fearful nod. Ral handed over the mizzium charge and turned back towards the mess of fighting, fire, and howling winds. By now, there was hail falling all around, and lightning flashed almost continuously overhead. Good conditions for a spell, then. Ral held up the white cloth, tracing the pattern of a simple tracking spell with one hand as he called the mana from the storm down with the other.

            For someone else, the bolt that struck all around him might have been blinding or painful, but for Ral it was his element, literally and figuratively. The lightning ran like water through his veins, and he wasn’t the _rain mage_ anymore; he knew how to control the flow so that it didn’t burn tissue or disrupt the rather important patterns controlling heart and brain. Some of the mana he siphoned into the spell, some into his gauntlet, and some he simply let spill down to the wet ground to dissipate in an outward-widening sphere.

            He felt it when the tracking spell caught, like a tug on the center of his chest, sobbed in a relieved breath at the sensation, because if the tracking spell was working, then that meant there was someone to track, which meant Tomik was alive. “Just stay that way, you asshole,” Ral muttered, gritting his teeth, and then he was running.

            He tore across the slippery pavement, nearly falling several times. He blasted a few Gruul warriors who got in his way, body-checked one or two of the frailer-looking Orzhov combatants as well, following the pull on his chest, on his heart. “Don’t you dare die, don’t you _dare_.”

            The storm was howling, the winds so strong that if Ral hadn’t been able to twitch the air currents around himself with an effort of will, he wouldn’t have been making any headway at all. The fighting looked as if it was starting to peter out; even the Gruul didn’t particularly like a battle in the middle of something that was close to a hurricane in intensity. Ral narrowly dodged a falling piece of masonry, wiped water from his eyes, stumbled around another corner—and there was Tomik.

            The Orzhov advokist was pressed back against the side of a restaurant, whose awning had been ripped halfway off and was fluttering wildly in the strong winds. An enormous cyclops stood in front of him, menacing him with a club roughly as thick as Ral’s entire body. A gargoyle stood rampant in front of him, vast stone wings flared out protectively, but even as Ral watched, the cyclops swung its club and knocked the creature sideways. It spun across the wet flagstones and collapsed on its side in a sound of screeching stone. Tomik’s tiny form tensed, gold flaring in one palm, but his contract magic wouldn’t be any use here, and there wasn’t time for something subtle, anyway—

            Ral flung out a hand, calling to the storm, feeling the power of Baal ignite inside his chest. Once again, the lightning answered his call, but this time he kept none of it, let none of it spill away into the ground, he just turned it at right angles and sent the whole thing at the cyclops menacing his lover.

            The sound of the thunderclap was so loud that everything other sound faded into indistinction around it, and it was far too bright to look at, but Ral looked at it anyway, watching the seconds tick by as if in slow motion. The lightning bolt struck the monster in the chest in an explosion as bright as a thermogenic flare, rippling through muscle and tissue, burning and overloading and destroying anything it touched. Blink, and all that energy was taking the creature backwards. It crashed into the building on the other side of the street, and there was a muffled thud as it went out the wall on the other side.

            Everything held itself very still for a long moment. Then a single brick, dislodged by the impact, fell from the roof and landed on the sidewalk, apparently noiseless. Ral twisted the winds open and half-fell towards Tomik, who had his head tipped back against the wall and was breathing heavily, blinking dazedly.

            Ral pulled Tomik against him, feeling the advokist’s rapidly beating heart against his own. Alive. He was _alive_. Ral wasn’t too late this time. To save someone he—

            — _Tomik’s little smirk as he told a stupid joke in a too-dry voice—_

_—The bemused look on Tomik’s stupid face when Ral rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone, matching the bemused feeling inside Ral’s tight chest—_

_—his stupid enthusiasm over property taxes, the way his fingers brushed against Ral’s when he handed him a cup of coffee, the feel of his hand tight and snug in Ral’s—_

_—_ loved. Fuck.

            Ral discovered he had his hands in Tomik’s wet hair and was running them down and across his lover’s back and arms, checking for injuries, while Tomik blinked and shook his head dazedly and just held onto him.

            “Are you all right?” Ral asked urgently, as the ringing in his ears subsided.

            For a moment, Tomik frowned at him, cocking his head to one side consideringly. The he spoke. “I’m soaked,” he said. “I think these robes are ruined.”

            “YOU NEARLY DIED!” Ral bellowed. There was a moment’s pause.

            “Well, yes, I suppose so,” Tomik replied quietly. “But I didn’t, and my robes are ruined.”

            Ral made a wordless, angry noise, and pulled him close again, burying his face in the advokist’s shoulder. Despite his calm words, Tomik was still trembling a little. After a moment, he put a hand on Ral’s head. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Ral, hey, it’s all right, I’m fine.”

            “You scared the hell out of me,” Ral said through a mouthful of wet robes. “Tomik, I—“ he stalled out, the storm beating inside his heart too much and too big to find escape through his throat.

            “Yes,” Tomik said. “I know. Ral. I do know.”

~

            They were leaning against one another exhaustedly on one of the benches in front of a tiny park in the Tenth District, apparently one of the places Tomik liked to take his lunch break. The storm had faded, and they’d barely managed to elude the Azorius and Boros showing up to break up the fight and arrest everyone. Tomik’s gargoyle lay curled lazily at their feet, apparently not much the worse for having taken a club to the side. They were still dripping and cold; under normal circumstances, Ral might have tried to dry them off, but as it was, he was far too tired to do anything of the kind.

            “I hate you,” Ral said miserably. “I feel _terrible_.” He sneezed, barely managing not to do so directly onto Tomik.

            “Ah, yes, I’m so sorry that I happened to be in the wrong place when the Gruul decided to randomly smash things up again,” Tomik retorted dryly.

            “You should be,” Ral told him. Then he kissed Tomik’s cheek and drew his lips across to the other man’s mouth. It started lazy and tentative and deepened into something desperate. Tomik sighed softly and put his arms around Ral’s neck, holding on. After a few minutes, he pulled back and groaned. “Let’s go find somewhere with a good shower, I am freezing.”

            A brief argument later and Ral found himself being shoved into Tomik’s bathroom in a small but very nice apartment unnervingly close to Orzhova. He was still drooping with exhaustion, but Tomik seemed to have at least partly recovered; he stripped both of them efficiently and dragged Ral into one of the most blissfully warm and clean showers he had been in for months. Since—since things that Ral wasn’t going to think about right now.

            “Are we going to have sex in the shower?” Ral asked sleepily.

            “No, we are going to get clean in the shower,” Tomik replied, rather snippily, handing Ral a piece of exquisitely-scented soap.

            They had sex in the shower. Tomik complained, so after they’d finished, Ral washed Tomik’s hair, and soaped him down, then let Tomik do the same for him.

            It was full dark by the time they were cleaned and dressed and Ral was feeling vaguely human again. His stomach rumbled loudly as the two of them headed back out into Tomik’s main room, and he realized he hadn’t had any form of sustenance all day other than the coffee Tomik had given him in the morning. Tomik fixed him with a rather judgmental look, apparently suspecting exactly that. “When is the last time you had food, Ral?”

            “Oh, uh…yeeeesterday?” Ral hazarded, and Tomik sighed.

            “I’ll go out and get us something to eat, shall I?”

            The bolt of panic that shot through Ral at that statement was in defiance of all logic, but he grabbed for Tomik’s hand anyway. “No—don’t—I,” he said, coherently. Tomik’s eyebrows went up.

            “Ral? What’s the matter?”

            “What do you _think_ is the matter, you nearly died,” Ral sputtered. “You really think I’m letting you out of my sight after that?”

            “Well, this close to Orzhova it’s not going to be terribly discreet if both of us go out together,” Tomik pointed out, but he put a soothing hand onto Ral’s shoulder. “I’ll send Cecilie. The food sometimes comes back a little smooshed and tasting of gravel, but I don’t suppose you’ll mind that.”

            Tomik’s gargoyle perked up on hearing her name, and lazily wandered over to butt her head against the advokist’s free hand.

            Ral let out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, no, I won’t care. Just—” he pulled Tomik close again. He wanted to be touching him all the time, the warmth of him reminding Ral that he was safe and alive and not about to vanish. Stupid, obviously. Tomik wasn’t going anywhere. “Don’t—don’t leave me,” Ral blurted before his brain could catch up with his mouth, and Tomik sucked in a little surprised-sounding intake of breath.

            “Ah—of course not.”

            “No—yeah—of course—sorry,” Ral muttered, starting to look away, but Tomik caught him and pulled him back to face him.

            “Ral,” he said steadily. “I will not leave you.” He pressed something into Ral’s hand. “Here.” Soft cloth. Ral stared down at it; it was the piece of Tomik’s robe that he’d used to track him through the crowd earlier. “Give me—” Tomik gestured, and Ral slowly unwound one of the red streamers he kept perpetually hooked into his shirt that fluttered so nicely dramatically in high winds.

            Tomik wound it around his own wrist, tying it off with a flourish, and after a moment, Ral did the same with the one he’d been handed. “Give me your hand,” Tomik said quietly. “I will not leave you, Ral. Contract witnessed and sealed.” Gold light flashed about both their wrists. Ral heard his own breathing harsh in his ears as he stared down at the cloth bands.

            “Right,” he said distantly, and then, somehow, he had his arms around Tomik’s chest and his face buried in Tomik’s hair. Tomik stroked his back, gentle, a little awkward.

            “Everything’s fine,” he said. “We’re safe, unharmed, and no one has filed a claim against us.”

            Ral managed a snort of laughter before he kissed him again. The gargoyle made a grumbling noise and nudged at his leg.

            “All right, Cecilie, do you think you can go get us some _knedliki_ without destroying it?” She sat up eagerly on her haunches. “I’ll get you some zinos.”

            Sighing, Ral flung himself down on what turned out to be a really deliciously soft couch; Tomik joined him a few moments later, and Ral pulled him into a close embrace again. “If we’re gonna be doing this, we should get an apartment together,” Ral mumbled. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

            “Mmm,” Tomik hummed in something like acknowledgment. “I love you, Ral.” He deposited a kiss on Ral’s cheek, and Ral snuggled into his welcoming arm.

            “You too,” dropped out of Ral’s mouth before he could stop himself. If he even wanted to stop himself. Whatever. Tomik was right: they were safe. Safe and warm and about to have dinner, even if there was going to be gargoyle spit in the dinner. Did gargoyles have spit? Important question, obviously.

            Tomik’s soft warmth was more important, though. And he wasn’t going anywhere. The soft cloth around Ral’s wrist was a promise that somehow, despite everything, he could believe in.


End file.
